Saxon Justice
by chiefhow
Summary: After the battle of Badon Hill, a group of Saxons are captured. The knights (along with Guinevere) and Arthur have different ideas for them. A new Cavalry is forged...R&R!
1. Introductions

**New story! New characters! Yes! I'm going to be trying something that I hope will be a bit different from my previous attempts. I've tried the "Oh, look! There's another prisoner down here! Isn't that convenient?!" route before, and it was not terribly original. Some people can bring themselves back from that, and still make a fantastic story. I feel that it is time for something new. This story will not be historically accurate. If you want historical accuracy, this is not the story for you.**

**In this story, I have decided to incorporate women in the Saxon army. I could have simply had women disguised as men, but that has already been done quite a bit with the knights. It would probably be more historically accurate, but it's been done. (During the civil war-the American one, anyway- there were accounts of women following their sweethearts into battle as men. I would assume that this was not an isolated incident.) So, I'm going to irk historians, and say that the Saxon's really needed the extra numbers. Not that they thought women to be spectacular fighters, but that they helped with that whole intimidation ploy. So, without further ado, I give you, "Andsaca" (enemy.)**

Cwen could honestly say that Atyhtan was the central character in the ever-changing stage of her life. Before she met him, she had simply been floating through life, with no real purpose. He had given her that purpose. They had given each other that purpose.

She kissed him now. Tomorrow loomed, unpredictable. They would be fighting; one could never know the end result. Atyhtan had promised her that they would only remain with the army for one last campaign. By then, they would have saved up enough money for their very own cottage. They could finally start the family that they had been longing for. One more battle, and it would all be over.

She pulled back from him, smiling. "Just one more…"

His grin widened. "Well, if you insist…" he said, kissing her.

She swatted him lightly on the shoulder. "You knew what I meant! Just one more **battle**!"

He kissed her jaw, moving on to her neck. "I do. That won't stop me. If you don't finish your sentences, I will."

She laughed, pleasing him. He was always happy to hear her laugh.

They were not as alone as they might think. A lone figure watched them with sad eyes. He had always loved her, he always would. She barely acknowledged his presence. She was a divine goddess, light shining from within. He saw how she looked at Atyhtan, and knew she would never love him. Her heart, her mind, her body, had been completely taken by him. Anbidian lived up to his name. He was patient, but he knew patience was not enough. He could not bring himself to interfere with their lives. So, he merely watched what could have been his. His hands stroking her cheek, her hair, her body. He occupied the shadows more often than not, haunting them. They had never seen him there, never. They never would.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, a bit frantic to have been discovered. Ah, it was only Devona. He sighed with relief. She would tell no one.

"You startled me!" he said, trying to smile.

Devona was not fooled. She knew why he was here. "It's getting late. You need to rest. Tomorrow will decide many things." She said, quietly.

He nodded to her, and moved past her to his tent.

Devona sighed, watching him. He still couldn't resist. It was painfully obvious to everyone but Cwen and Atyhtan that Anbidian was infatuated with Cwen. They had been friends too long for this to go unnoticed. She pitied him. He would never get what he wanted.

She looked beyond the flickering fires to the grand wall that stretched as far as the eye could see. Every so often, a figure would stare over the edge, at what must be an impressive sight. Thousands of Saxons, herself included, ready to attack the very next day. Oh, yes. They would be shaking in their boots. And rightfully so. They were a force to be reckoned with, and Rome was a weak kitten now. There should not be much resistance tomorrow. With a rather cynical smile, she turned; ready to head for her own tent. The figure standing in her path changed that.

Cynric. What an imbecile. Just because his daddy led the army, he felt that he owned it as well, and by extension, her. The twit needed to be shown his place, though it had to be done carefully, so as not to inspire the ire of his illustrious father. Privately, Cedric would admit that his son was a disappointment, but publicly it was an entirely different story. He couldn't bear the shame of having such a defective offspring, and wasn't too happy about anyone else publicly pointing out these flaws. It was a matter of pride, and pride was no small matter to the king of the Saxons.

Devona gave him a strained smile. "Excuse me, I need to get to bed. There's that small insignificant battle to be ready for, and all that…" she said sweetly.

Cynric eyed her in a manner that would have earned most men a good beating, but of course, this was Cynric. One couldn't go around beating up the king's son. "Are you sure you want to go to your tent? Mine's closer." He said, ever helpful.

Devona let out a rather false sounding sigh. Cynric's tent was at the other side of the field. He couldn't even remember where his tent was! "As appealing as that offer is, I'm afraid I'll have to turn it down. I really have to go." She said, pushing past him. She didn't get far. Cynric grabbed her arm, pulling her into his chest. This had happened on several occasions previously, and the end result had never been pretty.

"Cynric, let me go." Devona said, quite a bit more calmly than she felt.

Cynric chuckled. Devona was so clever! She always came up with such funny jests! "No."

Devona sighed. Cedric would not be pleased with her. Just as she was about to start laying violent hands on the heir to the Saxon throne, she noticed that they had an audience.

Esma strode forward. Her green eyes were glittering, which was never a good sign. She was one of Devona's greatest friends, but she couldn't always be counted on to control her anger. Cynric had been so distracted by her arrival, that Devona was able to slip from his grasp, avoiding the greater majority of required violence. She grabbed for Esma's hands, which were quickly turning into fists, and called over her shoulder,

"It was nice to see you, we really must be going now!" to Cynric.

Cynric was very confused. Women didn't say 'no' to him. No woman could claim that she didn't want to be in his bed! The idea was completely preposterous. Devona remained a mystery, and Cynric didn't like mysteries. They annoyed him. They made him feel stupid. He would have to do something about her; it was getting embarrassing.

Devona whipped Esma around as soon as Cynric was out of sight.

"Don't _ever_ go against my direct orders ever again. You know what would happen!" she exclaimed, exasperated. She had instructed her troops never to attack Cynric because of his actions towards her. It could never end well.

"Yes I know what would have happened. Cynric would have gotten what he deserved, I would feel quite happy, and Cedric would give me an award. Admit it, the world would be a better place without the bastard." Seethed Esma.

Devona lowered her voice. "If you promise never to repeat that, I'll agree with you. You know that. But actually doing it would not be entirely beneficial."

"Ha! You see, it would be at least partially beneficial!" Esma concluded, sure that she had won.

Devona sighed. It really was no use trying to persuade Esma. The girl was unable to accept orders that she didn't understand. Even from her commander.

"I'm going to bed." She moaned, defeated.

Esma watched her friend walk away, shoulders slumped. She really needed to learn to loosen up a bit. It wasn't such a huge deal to beat up the heir to the throne! But, then again, perhaps she had a point. Oh, well. No use thinking about that now when there were so many more interesting things to ponder; Like that really attractive man in the tent next to her. Head filled with these positive thoughts; Esma marched back to her tent.

Devona decided that looking at her priorities was becoming increasingly important in her life. Esma's temper should be lower on the list than it was. The top priority now was to keep herself and those under her command alive tomorrow. She was uneasy; no one would give up their land so easily. They had something up their sleeve. Devona did not like surprises.

She went over the list of her troops in her mind.

There was Abrecan, with the unusually dark hair and grey eyes who had indicated an interest in her previously, though she had turned him down. Romance complicated things. He was best with his armor-piercing crossbow, though he wasn't exactly a push over when wielding a blade.

Aglaeca didn't speak much, though there wasn't much need for him to speak in the first place. He kept his life simple in a way that Devona admired. He could beat them all with all number of weapons. He looked after his friends, though may the Gods help you if you got on his bad side. It never ended happily for such an individual.

Atyhtan was the charming flirt, who had swept Cwen off her feet the moment they met. Devona knew that Atyhtan wasn't always necessarily faithful, but she said nothing. She had no wish to offset the careful balance of her group. Both Cwen and Atyhtan were fairly competent, though neither was astounding. They were a couple to watch in the heat of battle. Devona didn't want to lose any of her people.

Banan was Aglaeca's friend. He more than made up for his friend's lack of conversation. He would talk to anyone who would listen on any number of subjects. Most simply nodded every so often, but generally ignored him. Devona made an effort to listen, but she was rarely successful.

Colby, Drefan, and Stearc had become fast friends. They were very helpful in combat, though they did have a rather annoying flaw. They shared a love of gambling, ale, and serving wenches, who were generally lacking when they went on campaign. So, alas, the men turned to their female comrades for attention. Every so often, they got it, though it was a rare event. The Saxon army had rather strict rules about such things, and no one wished to be caught. Drefan lived up to his name (trouble) and gave Devona lots of it. He usually came to her when he was quite drunk, and as a result, got innumerable black eyes. Devona would tolerate a great deal from her men. To be a commander, you had to be flexible. Drefan crossed the line far too often for her tastes, however. She often thought that Cynric and Drefan had perhaps been twins, and Cedric could only handle one delinquent son. So far, she had gotten no evidence to support this, or contradict it.

Anbidian was a darling; though Devona saw how much pain he lived with on a daily basis. She often thought of sitting him down and having a heart to heart, but she reminded herself that it was really none of her business. It was just a phase- he would grow out of it. At least, that's what she told herself. Anything else would convince her to put her nose where it wasn't welcome.

Bernia wasn't the closest friend Devona had, but she came close. She attracted a great deal of male attention with her unusual angular features, though for the most part, she ignored them. She preferred the company of her bow. To all she didn't know, she was frosty and distant. Her friends, however, saw her spark. She didn't talk to people she didn't know, because they, of course, must be idiots. She saw the world in black and white. Everything was clear-cut, and simple. Devona envied her, even as she loved her.

Estra was one of the most honest and blunt individuals Devona had ever met. She didn't go for fancy weaponry; she simply hefted her sword, to hell with anything remotely intricate. Whenever Devona needed an honest answer, she knew where to go.

Esma. Ah, Esma. Devona insisted that the woman had given her at least five grey hairs since they met, though Esma innocently told her that she could only find four. Estra had come by and assured her that she only had three grey hairs that she could see, which didn't necessarily make Devona feel any better. What are friends for, right?

Aefre was one of the most distant of the lot. She looked after the group's horses, singing softly to them. Whenever anyone asked her to sing for anyone of the human race however, she turned them down flatly. She never seemed sad, though she never seemed happy either. She could swing a fine battle-axe, though, for which Devona was forever grateful. She was a necessity to their little group, who looked after their mounts, and their backs.

Devona loved them all (yes, even Colby, Drefan, and Stearc) and tried to look after them. It was not always easy. She had become a commander at a young age, and they had never questioned her abilities. Others had. They stood by her, though some of the worst experiences of their lives. She was worried, always worried, about each and every one of them. They had their faults, certainly, but they were her friends. They were her family. Anyone who came between her and them were setting themselves up for a quick and violent death.

Devona rolled over on her cot, staring at the tent flap. She would be leaving it by sunrise tomorrow. Their fates would be decided at the edge of a foreign blade. She wished the morning would hurry up and come. She hated all of this useless waiting.

Atyhtan wrapped his arm around Cwen, drawing her warm body to his. People thought he didn't treat her well, but Cwen knew his heart. He might flirt when he shouldn't, but the idea of a lasting relationship was new to him. He was slowly getting used to the idea that Cwen loved him. He ran a finger along her jaw, listening to her breathe. She was asleep, a smile on her face. She was so innocent. So trusting. He had to take care of her.

Here's a list of names and their meanings.

Abrecan (storm) male

Aglaeca (fighter) male

Atyhtan (entice) male

Banan (slayer) male

Colby (from the dark village) male

Drefan (trouble) male

Stearc (severe) male

Anbidian (patient) male

Devona (protector) female

Bernia (Battle maid) female

Estra (mythological name) female

Cwen (Queen) female

Esma (Kind defender) female

Aefre (forever) female


	2. The Shadow

I'm so sorry for my shameful slackage. Honestly, I meant to update, but we had finals, and then I had to go to bible camp, which was rather frightening. I had to take a few days off to regain my sanity. So, therefore, I finally bring to you…CHAPTER 2! Woo Hoo! Also, any readers of MonDieu666 should know this. She is not, as I had previously feared, dead. No, she is simply having problems with people dying, computers crashing, and a new love interest. What a twist in the plot! Lets see how many various metaphors we can draw from her stories to life! Anyway, she will be updating with a HUGE chapter in a couple of weeks. Keep your eyes open!

**Jaulli Bass**- I thought it was pretty sneaky myself…Esma was my personal favorite. I'm not quite sure kind is exactly the word to describe her…

**Realtfarraige**-I pine for Sebbi. Honestly. I'm working on my "Sebbi/Aine one-shot at the moment, and having the time of my life! In that one, Sebbi gets drunk, and then must resort to poetry to win his lady love back. That's all you get till I finish it!

**Camlann**-Don't worry, I plan on killing off some of my characters, so that should help out. You won't have to remember them all! (they are a bit confusing…but thankfully, you have a handy index!)

**Queen of Gore**- That would be awesome to do the Romans! Heathens all! (what a great saying!) Anyway, I'm going to read "The Hollow" when I have time, as I prefer to read things all at once. Thanks for reviewing!

**Camreyn**- Yes, this is the night before the battle of Badon Hill. It should be lots of fun! Though, some sad things will happen, I can't stand too much of that, so you'll probably all think it's sappy. Oh well. As I told Camlann, you won't have to worry about getting everyone mixed up after the battle.

Devona rolled over in her sleep.

She was surrounded by the heat; smoke catching in her throat. Her people were falling all around her. Aefre, Colby, Bernia, Drefan, Esma, Abrecan, Banan, Stearc, Aglaeca, Atyhtan, Cwen, Estra, Anbidian.

All dead.

She knelt beside them in the flames, kissing their brow before shutting their eyes forever. She paused beside Abrecan, combing her fingers through his dark hair, resting her head on his chest, searching in vain for a heartbeat. Her tears mingled with his blood. She had been a fool, never telling him…now he was gone. It was so final, so unfeeling.

She raised her eyes and saw the arrow. At another time, she would have fought it, cursed it. Now, she welcomed it with a drugged smile, open arms. It couldn't' come fast enough. It teased her, slowing to a near standstill, inching forward. She let out a frustrated cry, and it finally came, lodging in her chest. She stared down at it, oddly surprised to see it there. She took one last look at the smoke, flame, and death around her before her lifeless body slumped onto Abrecan, pushing the arrow still farther into her flesh. It was finally over. The wait had ended. The worries were fleeing. One of only ten Saxon cavalries had been destroyed.

It was a true blessing.

Devona's eyes snapped open. Her breathing was ragged, uneven. It was only a dream. A recurring dream. It was not always Abrecan. It was always someone new. She dreamed before every battle, but she herself had never died. This was a new twist in an old nightmare, and she didn't like it. It had made her nervous, edgy. When the call came from outside her tent, she jumped. She took a deep breath, telling herself 'it was nothing…' and went to meet the page.

Often, Cedric would send for her before battle. She had become his daughter, in a way, as he had no daughter of his own. She, in turn, had no family and enjoyed being in his company. She knew he was not always the most honorable of men, but the, who was? She had lived long enough to know that honor was a lie. No one had honor. It was all an intricate web of fantasy, a carefully choreographed dance of fallacies. No one wanted to learn new steps. No one wanted to break the chain of dancers. They lived in a dream of fantasies, and Devona wished that they would wake up.

The squire didn't even bother to tell her why he was there. They had gone through this routine before. She nodded to him, and he led her through the winding mass of tents, until they reached the largest one. The squire bowed and retreated, leaving Devona to enter the tent alone.

Cedric had his back to her, consulting a map. He turned at her approach, and very nearly smiled. She was a good girl, his Devona. She always came when called. He wished that she had been his son, instead of that, that…embarrassment, Cynric. He embraced her.

"You will be careful?" he asked.

"I always am." She responded.

It was their ritual, their own dance. The question and response were nearly scripted by now. Ritual was comforting. It assured one that things hadn't changed so much after all.

"Good." He said with a sigh, "Then go and ready your people." He said, dismissively.

She bowed, and left the tent.

As she walked back to her own tent, she noticed that most of her people were already awake. Good. Esma stumbled laughingly from her neighbor's tent, earning a glare from Devona. She knew the rules! When Esma noticed the glare, she fixed an innocent expression upon her face, as if to ask 'What did I do?' Devona lifted an eyebrow, and Esma dropped her act, giving her a salacious grin. Devona shook her head, defeated. There really was not talking to that one!

She glanced around frantically for Abrecan, and let out a sigh when her eyes found him. He was very much alive. They all were. For now. She tried to smile, but couldn't. Instead, she went to her tent, arming up.

A shadow followed her. She knew who it was. He was the only man to ever enter her tent. His hands rested on her shoulders, turning her to face him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, staring intently at her face, searching for truth.

She gave him a wry smile. "Nothing is wrong. This is just like any other battle that we've been in." she said, more trying to convince herself than him.

"There _is_ something wrong. You will tell me. Is it that idiot Cynric again?"

She made herself laugh. "Do you think I cannot handle Cynric?"

"I have no doubt that you can handle Cynric. That doesn't mean he isn't a problem." He countered.

Devona sighed. "He only bothers you. For reasons that shouldn't be." She said, quietly.

His stare intensified. "And what reasons might those be?" he asked, stepping closer.

Devona was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "You know the reasons. My saying them won't change anything."

"What if you're wrong?" he asked, head tilted in question.

She really wished he wouldn't do that. It was distracting at best. Intoxicating at worst. She tried to concentrate on something else, anything else. She couldn't. Her blue eyes met his grey, as she tried to back away, to remove herself from the situation.

He was unwilling to let her get away. Too many times, he had watched her retreating back, her hesitant yet firm smile of refusal. She would not refuse him now.

He caught her hips as she turned, holding her in place. "You will not run from me." He said, quietly. "If you want me to leave, say it to my face, not the wall."

Devona was having trouble breathing regularly. His hands were turning her around again. She didn't stop him. She could have. It was that knowledge that most disturbed her. She was letting him.

He saw her eyes without their usual confidence, without their usual bravado. And yet, there was something new there. A curiosity, a spark of something he couldn't identify. He pulled her to him, her breasts skimming his chest. Almost as an afterthought, her arms snaked up his arms, attaching themselves behind his neck, bringing him closer. They stood there for a long while staring at one another, not quite believing that this was happening. Here. Now. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he lowered his head so that his lips hovered just over her own.

"Do you still want me to leave?" he asked, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

Her eyes flashed with dread for only a moment. "No." she said, pulling him down, crushing her lips on his. He met her with equal ferocity and hunger. He had wanted her for so long, not knowing what she thought, what she felt. It had been torture, every moment of it. But, he had survived, and now, he would reap the rewards of his patience. He pulled her to the floor.

Devona couldn't understand what was happening. Everything seemed to be happening so fast! One moment, she had wrapped her self around him, the next they were on the floor, her legs straddling him.

He was running his hands over her back, her thighs. A strangled noise issued form the back of her throat as his hands swept under her tunic, teasing her.

Devona couldn't remember the last time she had been kissed. Actually, that was a lie. She remembered it very well. Abrecan had just joined their cavalry, and he had pulled her into the nearest tent at the opportune moment, catching her completely off guard. She had pushed him away then, but she pulled him to her now, wanting him more than breath.

It was when Abrecan had thrown her tunic to the side and flipped her under him that she remembered the day's agenda. But, this felt quite…well, nice was not the word. His head was buried in her neck, his lips, breath, on her throat.

"We…have things to do…" she managed to gasp.

"Yes, we do." He said, reaching for the waistband of her trousers.

"No. I mean, there is that rather insignificant battle to attend to." she said, still catching her breath.

He groaned, leaning back, bringing most of his weight with him. Devona wondered where her tunic had gone. Without his skin on hers, the tent was _very_ cold. She grabbed his shoulders, hoisting herself up. He looked regretfully down at her, stroking the sides of her breasts.

"This isn't over. When were done fighting for this godforsaken island, I will bring you to my bed." He said, firmly.

He picked her up, and set her on her cot, thinking that she would want to get ready by herself. She didn't appear to want to move, however. She looked a bit dazed, come to think of it. She would need some help. He found the tunic that he had tossed aside in the corner, and tugged it over her head taking care to smooth out all of the wrinkles. He strapped her weapons to her body, making sure that they were just as she preferred them. When he had finished tying the last strap, she sighed, leaning into him. He stroked her hair, wishing that they didn't have to fight today, and could simply stay here. He kissed her temple.

"We will win quickly, they don't have many fighters left. Then, we're coming right back here. I get you for a day at least. You won't even want to venture from this tent." He said, smiling slightly.

She laughed, trying to cover her nerves. She was feeling more uneasy by the minute. Devona suddenly clutched the front of the soldier's tunic, terror quite apparent. The dream was coming back to her now. Dead. Each and every one of them. Gone.

"You won't get killed, will you? You must promise me…"

He shook his head. "I will be here with you forever. You know that."

She was still afraid for him, for all of them. She pulled him to her, just holding him. Who knew if they would ever see one another again? How could he really promise that he would stay with her? It was at that moment that Devona realized just how insane she was behaving. She was a commander of the Saxon army. She should be seeing to her men, not her man.

He felt her spine straighten, her shoulders set. His commander was back, in the flesh. He sighed, but knew this was for the best. He didn't need a lover now. He needed a leader. He pulled away, as small, ironic smile on his face.

She stood, and walked past him, out into the dawn. He followed. Esma gave him a lusty wink when he appeared, and looked at Devona.

"How can you scold me for playing with the boy next door when you seem to have found your own playmate, eh mother?" she asked.

Devona was in no mood. For once, her face hardened at her friend, and Esma decided this was probably not the best time to upset her commander. Perhaps Abrecan was not all he was said to be in bed…

Devona looked around at the souls who were entrusted to her. If they did not survive today, it would not be for lack of trying. She would give this battle all she had, and only hoped to rise from the rubble with the majority of her limbs. No one else seemed worried though, and that in itself made for more worry for Devona. They were growing complacent, and complacency was never helpful in matters of life and death.

Aefre had attended to their horses. The soldiers always looked upon them with envy, as they had to trudge everywhere. The Saxon's did not rely on their cavalry, it would have been illogical. They did, however, keep a small number for emergency. There was a chance that they would not be needed at all, though that was wishful thinking. They were always needed in the end.

Bernia inspected Abrecan, as though trying to decide his motives. He must have passed her test, as she turned away and finished checking her weapons.

Drefan was a bit affronted. He wasn't good enough for her but this "Abrecan" was? That was quite a jest, and he was waiting for them all to say "You fools, we were only joking!" but no such exclamation came. In fact, just before they left, he saw Abrecan kiss her, a bit chastely perhaps, but it was a kiss all the same. Something was definitely off, and he would sort it out later. Right now, he had other things to think about.

Atyhtan pulled Cwen behind a tent into the shadows, and kissed her. He wanted to make sure she was taken care of. He had a bad feeling about this battle, and if he was to die, well, at least her would die happy.

Devona took a deep breath and mounted her horse. Dreams were full of deceit, and couldn't be trusted. It was only a dream…

**Please review! I love to hear what you like/hate, what I can do better with…etc. Also, if you want to review Artemis de Luna's story, so that she will update…that would be great…her story is awesome, and I'm the only one reviewing it now!**


	3. Battle and Retreat

Okay, now that the Mock Trial/Speech season approaches, updates will be sporadic. I might be able to find a way to write between rounds, but then again, I might not. Just know that I haven't abandoned my little projects, and the season will end eventually!

**K.E.Hashomner**- Thanks!

**Katemary77**- You'll just have to read!

**Je suis une pizza**- Of course I'll write another chapter! Thanks for the review!

**Realtfarraige**- In the last chapter, I mentioned that while Cedric and Devona were not related by blood, they might as well have been. Thanks for the interesting info! Esma does remind me of Rebekah a bit, though Esma isn't quite as responsible.

**Camreyn**- I should have made that one scene more clear. Bernia is very protective of her friends, so she was a bit concerned about Abrecan. I believe I mentioned in the first chapter that Drefan had a thing for Devona…again, I should have made that more clear, sorry! So, Abrecan was not kissing Bernia, the "she" I was referring to was Devona. I'm sorry I made it so confusing! Yes, Bible camp is always a harrowing experience.

**Snorks**- Yes, that's true. They didn't use women in the movie, so I wasn't sure how people would react to that. So far I haven't gotten any complaints, so that's okay! Thanks!

**Queen of Gore**- There will be happiness in this story, I can't write an entire piece that is completely depressing…Thanks!

Dagonet sighed. He knew what was required. It was simply a matter of putting his own concerns and desires aside for the greater good. He carefully, meticulously strapped on his armor, checking his weapons. The other knights were leaving. He would stand by Arthur, and in all likelihood, he would die by Arthur. Dagonet did not believe in regret. It was a useless emotion, and usually did more harm than good. The feeling was beginning to creep in, despite his adamant beliefs to the contrary. He kept seeing the woman, cold, afraid, alone. He had to shut that out, he had to close his mind. It would weaken his resolve, it would poison him.

Dagonet did not live for glory. He lived for honor. They were two entirely separate things. Glory was selfish, deceptive, political. Honor was something you earned, something you lived by. He would not sacrifice all he had worked for for such selfish reasons as the ones that were currently dancing through his mind. Yes, he _could_ leave now, perhaps she would even smile to see him, but it wouldn't be for her sake. It would be for his, and that was completely unacceptable. He was disgusted with himself, for even thinking of leaving. The others he could forgive easily. They had their real lives to look forward to. Even Bors, who was getting on in years, had Vanora and all the "lil' bastards" to take care of. They all had a home to return to, people waiting for them. He did not. He had a duty to Arthur, to humanity. You couldn't toss all that away for a woman, no matter how beautiful. And she was. Beautiful. No one else saw it, because they only employed their eyes. They were fools, who thought her old, wasted, and ugly. That was what ignorance saw in the woman of Rome.

Dagonet mentally shook himself. This would not help him today. He needed his mind clear and focused. He ruthlessly pushed her image away. It would never have worked, anyway. She wouldn't stay, and he wouldn't go. It was that simple. He sighed again, coaxing his face to stay neutral. It wouldn't do for him to lose control. Not here, not now.

Arthur and Dagonet sat silently on their horses. The pendragon banner whipped in the wind, more than making up for their lack of conversation. They did not need to speak. Neither of them were terribly social creatures, and the impending battle made them even less so. Arthur was glad to have a friend by his side, even if he remained mute. He had no idea what he was doing, and it was always comforting for others to place their faith in you. Certainly, that was a frightening thing in and of itself, but with Dagonet, Arthur always knew everything would turn out all right in the end. Perhaps this battle would be no different. Though, the reverse could be true as well.

Devona rode at the head of her men. A sea of Saxons spread before her, and she tried to convince herself that everything would be all right. 'Look, we probably won't even have to fight! There is no one left _to_ fight.' She though. Unfortunately, such things did not reassure her. She had far more sense than that. Today would be bad. Today would not be forgiving. Today, she needed to be in top form.

When Arthur came to answer Cedric's signal, she watched him closely. This one had a few tricks left, and she was unwilling to allow him to use them. She couldn't hear what was being said, though their actions were clear enough. This one had spine, and she could practically hear Cedric's thoughts. 'Too bad he isn't Cynric.'

Cedric raised the cry of the Saxon's and they all joined in, though Devona made a note to talk to Cwen about hers. It was rather pitiful. A real cry must come from your heart, your gut. Never your throat. The throat lent it no real passion.

But then the gates snapped shut, and she could no longer see Arthur through the smoke. The smoke was another factor not to Devona's liking. It was far too familiar, far too terrifying for comfort. She lifted her head, forcing the negative thoughts away, nearly conjuring a smile. Nearly.

It was the movement that caught her eye. The two horsed knights had multiplied. There were now seven armed and dangerous knights peering down at them without mercy, and Devona forced herself to look around. They would not survive this many. They were only men. The Gods were far beyond their reach. As she watched, one of them drew his bow, aiming at a tree. This puzzled her, until their scout tumbled out, the arrow rammed through his heart. She was beginning to change her mind about the knights' divinity.

The gates were opening now, slowly. It seemed to Devona to be a sickening invitation, the smoke unfurling and whisping towards them. Some of it seemed to fist around their throats, and more than one soldier remembered a chant or two for protection against the dark forces. Devona remembered them herself. In her head, she screamed the incantations, though she knew it wouldn't help. The Gods didn't bother with the battlefields. It was mortal territory. They would rule it like mortals, Gods be damned!

Cedric sent what remained of Cynric's troops through the welcoming gates. Cynric hung back, with an expression that surprised Devona. If she was not mistaken, it was shock. He cared about his men. Certainly, he wanted glory, but he was concerned about someone other than himself. It was a rare occurrence, and Devona tucked it away for a later moment when she would undoubtedly become upset with him again. Well, now was not the time. The soldiers disappeared into the misting smoke, and the doors shut behind them with an ominous thud. Devona heard nothing at first, but then the unmistakable whoosh of arrows came, and she knew that the rules of the game had changed drastically. They hadn't expected archers. They hadn't expected much of anything, really, and Devona was unsure as to what they would do about this new dilemma. She heard the screams, the yells, and knew they were all dying.

Then, all was quiet, but for the opening of the gates. A single soldier stumbled out, his eyes wild, body ripped and bleeding. He would not survive. He would serve only as a warning. He died in vain, however. Cedric accepted the challenge of Arthur Castus. It was a decision that he would die to regret. It was not only the regular army that he led through those gates, it was the cavalry. His adoptive daughter among them. He didn't spare her a glance. He simply strode forward, confident his men would follow. Follow him, they did, to their cost.

Devona couldn't see anything for a long time. The smoke finally cleared, and she was finally granted sight. She wished then to remain blind. Those were her people, her blood spattering the grass. Their eyes staring at her…all of them. She blinked, and set her jaw, looking about for the enemy.

The enemy was nowhere to be found. She didn't see any but Saxon's among the dead. It was if an army of ghosts had trampled them, disappearing into thin air. But, that couldn't be right…something else was going on here. But then, one of the foot soldiers spotted them. A mere seven knights. This was no army, it was a joke! As one, they charged.

The whoosh of arrows came, though they were much easier to spot now. Fire rained down on them, and they swung their shields around for protection. Some were not quick enough. One such unlucky soldier fell aflame into the pit of mud. Or, what they had thought to be mud. As the fire quickly spread, Devona was betting on pitch. She should have recognized that stench! There was no time for such thoughts, as warriors painted in blue rushed from the trees.

It seemed as if they had appeared from nowhere, their ethereal skin blending perfectly with their surroundings. Devona did not like to admit that her heart was beating faster at the mere sight of them, but it was true. She flicked her eyes over her people, making sure they were all prepared. She shouldn't have bothered. They were as ready as they always were, gripping their weapon of choice in concentration.

The first clash was always the worst. Both sides lost greatly. The attackers hadn't even bothered with armor! Devona had certainly not anticipated their numbers. They would actually have to fight. It would certainly be bloody. She saw no reason to hold back any longer. She let out a cry, urging her people on. They galloped around the army, attacking the enemy head on.

Lancelot was not enjoying himself. Some idiot had already unhorsed him, and that never really brightened his mood. As he sliced through the idiots in odd furry clothing, he just wanted this all to be over. As much as he loved Arthur, he hated battles like this. Battles where more died than lived. His armor was already spattered with more blood than he really wanted to think about. He heard him coming. Before the Saxon's blade could swing down into his back, Lancelot swept one of his twin swords behind him, gutting the soldier. He gritted his teeth at the man's screams, and continued on his bloody quest, looking about frantically for Arthur. He saw Guinevere instead. She had fallen to the ground, blood spurting from her mouth. The Saxon from the lake was standing over her, ready to deal the deathblow. Lancelot could not allow that to happen. With a yell, he found his horse and rode, knocking soldiers out of his way as more of an after thought than anything. He would not see her die. Arthur would never recover, nor forgive.

Devona sliced through blue bodies, blood spattering her own skin. Some of the enemy weren't looking as blue as they had in the beginning. The paint was mixing with their own blood, creating a horrible shade of red-violet. It was rustier than Devona had ever seen. Pushing such thoughts from her mind, she kept her blade swinging, almost mechanically by now, and thought no longer. Her humanity was gone.

Tristan dismounted, using his blade in the clipped and controlled manner that had become his signature. Tristan was not an artistic man, though you would have thought so, seeing his movements. They were as unique and foreign as the man himself. He stared at the King of the Saxon's, challenge clear in his eye, as he dispatched his men without even sparing them a glance. Cedric studied the man, nearly grinning. It would be fun killing this one. The Gods appeared to have blessed him this day; he usually didn't have such interesting opposition. He whipped the sword from his belt, spreading his arms in invitation. The knight stepped forward, no emotion passing over his features. Cedric followed his lead.

He waited for the knight to strike first, it was always so much more satisfying to kill the eager ones. After a short study, the knight obliged him, swinging low. Cedric blocked him, and had to force himself not to smile again. Life was smiling on him now! And so it continued, the dance grew faster, the screech of metal on metal dictating their movements.

Cwen frantically swung her blade about her, forgetting most of her training. She wasn't quite as used to this style of battle, and it showed. When ice shot through her belly, it wasn't a great surprise. The Woad jerked his blade from her, and Cwen looked down to see red blossoming from her stomach. She brought her hand away from the wound, and it glistened with blood. She would not survive, that much she knew. She fought to remain conscious, though feeling seemed to have left her, searching for Atyhtan. She found him. He was laying on his back, staring up at the sky with his mouth wide open in shock, an arrow through his heart. Cwen couldn't even work up the energy for tears. She dragged herself over to his body, and collapsed on arrival. There was nothing she could do for either of them. He was dead, and she wasn't all that far off. They would see each other again. She let out one final breath, and closed her eyes for the last time.

Anbidian looked on in horror. He should have been able to save her, but he was too slow, to unskilled. Now, she was gone, lost to him forever. He attacked the blue demons with more rage than he had ever felt in his life. The time for Patience had ended. The time for Fury had arrived. He dealt it with a blank face and raging eyes. The Woads had never believed in the Devil before now. Oh, how wrong they were.

Dagonet wasted not motions with fancy turns or artful flourishes. It was not his way, and he had never seen the point of wasting his time in such a fashion. This made him quite a force to be reckoned with, even without his horse.

Lancelot's twin blades intercepted the Saxon's just in time. With a yell of fury, the knight pushed the foreigner away from the Woad. Guinevere pushed herself up, looking about for her weapons. She found her dagger first. The Saxon had thrown Lancelot to the ground, now was the time for action. Summoning last reserves of her strength. She leapt onto his back, slashing his throat. The Saxon fell backward, crushing her under him. She didn't care. He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone now. With that in mind, she closed her eyes, ready to die happy.

Abrecan was dying, that much he knew. There was nothing he could do for himself now. It was Devona that he thought of now, as he continued killing as many of the painted warriors as were within his reach. She would not fall, not if he had anything to do with it. His only regret was that he was leaving behind some unfinished business. He would not have a day with Devona. She would not be his. Well, he would see to it that she did not become anyone else's…anyone else's kill, that was. When the blade lodged in his back, he knew he couldn't continue. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Cedric was not feeling quite as confident as he was in the beginning. So far, the knight had not fallen for any of his usual tricks. The King of the Saxons hadn't even landed a hit! So far, one of Cedric's braids had been hacked off, and a cut had been delivered to his leg. He would not remain standing for long.

Devona saw him fall. She screamed, stumbling over to him. A knight was standing over him, not willing to leave the kill to anyone else. Cedric knew the end was coming.

"Go!" He yelled, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Devona didn't understand. She would save him!

"No! Go! Take your men and run! That is an order!" he said with finality. It had taken a great deal to choke out those words. He wouldn't see her die, though. The knight would kill her if she didn't run. They would all die if they didn't run. He had done what he could for her, now he could die in peace. He closed his eyes as the blade came down. It really wasn't so bad…

Devona couldn't refuse a direct order, even one that she totally disagreed with. She ran.

Her people were still grouped together, though they were distinctly fewer in number. None of them had been spared a coating of blood.

"Retreat! Into the forest, now! Go!" she yelled, when they hesitated. They had never know Devona to order a retreat when the battle hadn't yet been lost. The look on her face was what convinced them. They had to leave. Gathering their horses, they took off at a gallop, killing only when necessary.

Drefan saw the archer first. He was aiming at Devona, as she was obviously the one in charge. With a yell, he threw himself at her horse, trying to move her out of the way. His plan was successful, though not for himself. The arrow missed Devona, but it hit him square in the chest. Bernia took the archer down, but it was too late for Drefan. His death didn't change their plans, however. If anything, they enforced them. They had to get out, or more of their friends would die. They couldn't win.

Tristan didn't know, and honestly didn't care, where the girl had run off to. The battle had nearly ground to a halt at the Saxon King's demise, which didn't concern him much either. No, what concerned Tristan at the moment was the status of his fellows. He knew it was rather unrealistic to expect _all_ of them to survive the fight, though couldn't help but wish it. It was distinctly unlike him, and he didn't trust such emotions. He would really have to do something about it.

The dark of the forest was deceptively calm. It was cold, though they didn't dare build a fire. Devona didn't know what they would do. They had to get off this island. They stood out from the crowd, with their rather distinct appearances. She didn't know the terrain of the land, either, which was always worrying. They had to leave, they had to run. Devona simply didn't know where.

They had all lost friends. Colby, Drefan, Banan, Stearc, Atyhtan, Cwen, Abrecan. Half of their band was gone. They couldn't bring them back. There was nothing to be done but sit, and hope that no one found them.

**Please review! I know my battle sequences are confusing, but they are meant to be… I'm sorry if you didn't get them…anyway, kudos to my reviewers! I love you all!**


	4. Bathing With Old Men

**I actually updated within the week of the last update. I am so happy! Don't worry if you don't like some of the characters now. They'll have plenty of time to settle down.**

**Camlann**- I was so happy to hear from you! I was really sad when Abrecan died…he was really hot. Anyway, Arthur was fighting while Tristan killed Cedric. I just made it so Tristan won their little battle.

**Shaeya Sedjet**- Thanks!

**Quinn-FanFicAddict**- Thank you so much! I'm a diehard Dagonet/Fulcinia Shipper, and am so disappointed that most people think its stupid. Idiots. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed my other stories. Yeah, the third prisoner deal is pretty old, and I kind of cringe when I think that this was how I actually started one of my stories. I have moved on. Thanks so much for your thoughts!

**Je suis une pizza**- I would never have been able to juggle that many OCs, though I am a bit of an addict where OCs are concerned. I like the number I have to work with now much better! Thanks for the thoughts, but I think it fair to warn you- my brain is really weird. It does things without telling me all the time. I don't know where I get most of my ideas for stories, but if that is where my mind is going, I'll follow it. I know that sounds really weird, but that's the way it works.

**Katemary77**- Lancelot **is** sexy! I'll let you know when to expect the impending romance. Thanks for the review!

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Cold. So cold. They were never coming back. She would never see them again. Devona still had things to attend to, even if her people were fewer in number. They were in unfamiliar territory, they had no food, no shelter other than the trees, no maps, no guide, and no plans. All in all, it was not one of the most opportune situations Devona had ever found herself in. Right now, she was bloody, she was tired, and her people weren't in fantastic shape either. They would sleep now, if they could manage it. She hoped they would. They would need it.

They huddled together, trying to keep the cold off. Every so often, a tear would find its way to the earthen floor of the forest, though no one commented on it. No one wanted to push the other too far. The day had not been pleasant, by any stretch of the imagination. Someone stroked her hair, though she didn't know whom the hand belonged to. She didn't much care. It wasn't their hands she wanted on her.

Her thoughts were fixed on Abrecan. He wasn't dead, he couldn't be! He was just wounded…she shouldn't have left that battlefield without checking on him. It would be her fault if he bled out before they could reach him. Her fault. It didn't matter that Cedric had ordered her…Cedric was dead. He was dead. She hadn't let herself think of him. Hadn't let herself think of him at all. He had looked after her, trained her, and she had refused to think of him. She hadn't deserved anything that he had given her over the years, including his trust. Now, the last memory she would have of him would be him lying on his belly, a blade through his back. All the blood. Too much blood. She remembered only vaguely the warrior who had brought the blade down. Perhaps she would know him by sight, perhaps not.

She didn't know how much time had past. It was getting darker though, and she knew the hours must have been considerable. She had to wake them. They needed to get moving. It would be best to move in the dark, less chance of being seen. They needed a plan, and she wasn't sure whether she should be acting as their commander now. It seemed to her that they should make decisions together from now on. Perhaps they wouldn't have lost as many… But, there wasn't anything she could do about that now. What was done was done. She gently shook each shoulder, tried to give each face a smile, though she often failed. Once they had all regained at least the majority of their faculties, she began.

"What will we do?" she asked, quietly.

Devona didn't usually ask questions. It was a much more common occurrence for her to provide the answers. She didn't have them now, and it worried her band. This was not the confident leader of the morning. She was broken, and it showed. Esma decided it was time for action.

"We will leave." She said, simply.

Aglaeca shook his head. "We don't know the land. It will take much work, much stealth. Even then, we still wouldn't be sure where we're going. Who would we ask for directions? The villagers wouldn't be helpful to Saxons." He mused aloud, hardly noticing the shocked looks on his friends faces.

Usually, Aglaeca wasn't one for much talk. He usually let Banan have all the fun there…but Banan was dead. Like the rest of them. Aglaeca didn't seem to be thinking along those lines, however. No, at the moment, he was formulating their plan of escape.

Devona was trying very hard to listen, to keep herself in the moment. If she went anywhere else, she didn't know what might happen. What she might see, blood…blood.

"We have to go back." She said, in that same quiet, fragile voice that had so frightened them earlier.

Aglaeca looked at her. "We know, that's what we're trying to figure out. Right now, we have to make our way to the coast, and then…"

"No." Devona cut him off, " Back to camp. We'll need our things."

Even Esma saw problems with this plan. "Devona, they won't just let us back. They'll kill us. Yes, we must go back, but not to camp. Back home, Devona, home. We'll all live together, won't we, and it will all be wonderful…" she trailed off.

The tone she had just used was so unlike her. There were no innuendos, no witticism. It was all desperation, all in an attempt to soothe the frazzled nerves of her once impenetrable commander. Her friend. They were all behaving in manners completely alien to them.

"No." Devona repeated. "We will never make it home. No one would help us, we'd all die. No. We'll go back to the camp. We have our dead to bury, after all."

Everyone was silent for a time after that statement. It was true, they certainly had dead on their hands, but what could they do about it? The painted people would kill them on sight, and the bodies would be burned eventually. They were not a stealthy group, and in this country, they didn't exactly blend in.

Estra spoke for the first time. "We cannot go back there, Devona. The dead are dead, we are not. They wouldn't want us to cut our own lives short. You know that." She said, trying to keep her voice even, reasonable.

"The dead were _ours_." Devona snapped, "Ours. Mine. They were mine. I won't leave them to rot, or to be hacked at and burned by some bumbling heathen drunkards with blue skin. They deserve better. More. You can't expect me to hop on a boat and sail away home." She hissed.

Devona had never used that tone with her people. In fact, Esma doubted she had ever hissed in her life. Devona did not often indulge in anything, even in vocal inflection. Bernia wasn't about to let that go. She moved so that she stood toe to toe with Devona, their noses inches apart.

"Control yourself, Devona. Do you think they meant nothing to us? Do you think you're the only one with a heart? A soul? Cwen died today. She's dead. She's gone. How do you think I feel about that? You lost men today. We all did. You lost Abrecan today; we know what he was to you. Well, you know what? He didn't mean any less to the rest of us then he did to you. He was our brother, our friend. Cwen was our sister, our friend. Banan was our brother, our friend. Drefan was…"

"I know! I know!" she yelled, "You don't have to name them all! I know each and every one of them!"

"Why shouldn't I name them? They were real? Weren't they?" Bernia challenged.

They were right in each other's faces, the air around them hummed with violence. Then, Devona did something unexpected. Angry tears fell to her cheeks, clouding her vision. She slumped to the ground, in a most undignified posture. Devona was not a weak woman. You didn't become a commander in the Saxon army with weakness. Her friends didn't know what to make of it. Esma was the first to come to her senses.

She dropped to her knees beside her friend, searching for her eyes. "You keep that up, you'll work up some nice mud, pretty soon we'll have us a nice swamp, then no one will come here for us. You go right on ahead and cry, its fine." She said, attempting to regain her usual form of speech. "I might join you."

She held her, not quite sure what to do about all the tears. This was why she liked men. They were so much simpler! They didn't just break out crying all the time! This was not Esma's particular area of expertise, but she gave it a good try.

Bernia and Aefre exchanged bewildered glances, even more confused than Esma, if that was possible. The only ones who seemed completely at ease were Aglaeca and Anbidian. Over the course of their lives, they had come across many damsels in distress, and had lived to fight another day. This was old territory for them, it was almost reassuring. Certainly, it would have been better if said damsel was not their commanding officer, but you take what you can get. With a nod, they approached the rather wet pair on the forest floor. Aglaeca took Devona's arms, while Anbidian took her feet. This did not make for a very happy Devona. She sputtered, and even managed a glare for the two men. They saw this as quite an improvement.

They didn't stop once she had ceased to cry. No, they brought her over to the creek, and dumped her in. Aglaeca dusted his hands off on his tunic, and actually smiled at Anbidian.

"That should do the trick." He said, very smug.

It certainly did. Devona surfaced absolutely furious. Gone was the fragile and frightening female. Well, she was still frightening…very much so, in fact. She rose from the depths of the shallow creek, the water dripping from her hair. Her face was murderous, and they all let out a sigh of relief at this. Devona was back! It really didn't concern them overly much that she was not in the most calm of tempers. They took it as a sign that she wouldn't be breaking down in tears anytime soon.

Devona looked down at her hands. The blood that had dried was newly red, running over her palms. She bent down and sank into the creek, scrubbing her hands, her skin, trying to make it go away. But it didn't want to go. She found it in the folds of her skin, underneath her fingernails. She lifted her hand to her hair, and found it tacky with blood. That would need to change, and soon. She didn't think she could stand it much longer.

Esma didn't particularly like the state of her hair, either. She considered it, then squaring her shoulders, she marched the two males away from the creek, making sure their backs were the only thing that could see the water. Satisfied that they would stay where she put them, she hummed back to her girls. She pulled Estra and Bernia behind her, sure that she wasn't the only one concerned with a bit of hygiene.

When Esma had finished with her hair, she turned to Devona.

"How's this for a plan- I find some desperate wealthy man with a few extra rooms who's willing to forget he has a wife for a dance around the bed with me." She said, grinning.

Devona raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose your chances are better now that your hair is it's natural shade." She commented. "But, no. I don't like that plan. I want the old man."

"Deal." Conceded Esma, face straight.

"If Devona gets an old man, I want one too." Bernia informed her.

"Me three!" yelled Anbidian, over his shoulder.

"Now, children…we can all find old men, there's no need to argue over it." Assured Aefre, giving everyone a little shock. Well, at least it was a pleasant shock. It always surprised them when Aefre let on that she actually had a sense of humor.

Devona stepped out of the creek, and pulled on her tunic. It clung to her wet flesh, but she really didn't care. As she tugged on her trousers, she turned back to her friends.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't myself." She said, briefly.

They all nodded, and Devona caught Bernia's eye. A few seconds hummed between them, and Bernia blinked. She gave Devona a half smile, and Devona let out a sigh. It was all right. Bernia didn't hold a grudge. She walked away to join the small male population of her cavalry.

The other women finished up their washing quickly, not wanting to linger in the water. It wasn't exactly warm.

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Arthur contemplated the trees. He had seen all number of Saxons retreating there, and had assumed that the Woads would take care of that little problem. He had seen a group of Saxons on horseback leave, and they hadn't been found yet. That worried him. Warriors on horseback could do a lot of damage. They could very well kill any party he sent after them. Perhaps killing them wasn't the answer.

Arthur had been raised as a Roman. He knew all about Roman politics, how Romans waged war. He knew what they did with prisoners; his men were living proof of that. Perhaps that was what he needed. Over the years, he had lost many knights, and they had never been replaced. He would offer those positions to the dangerously unknown Saxons. There would, of course, be precautions that must be taken. He would make sure that they were seen to. At the moment, he was going to have a nice long talk with his recently freed knights.

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**Review please! I'll be your "bestest" friend forever! If you find Devona to be really annoying right now, that's okay. Trust me, she gets better!**


	5. Loyalty and Branding

**This is short, but I felt like updating. This will get better, I have some lovely scenes in mind…it won't all be the "woe is me" ploy. That would annoy me far too much.**

**Queen of Gore**- I love Esma. She is my hero.

**MonDieu666**- Yey for your internet connection!

**Camreyn**- Happy belated New Year to you too! I'm so glad you're back! As Cedric couldn't move, I really don't' think he gave up too easily. See, this Cedric actually cares about something, even if he is selfish about it. Tristan goes to fight all the other people. I can't see him just waiting around for the enemy when there are plenty of other people to kill. Don't worry…that isn't going to happen. Perhaps some of them will, but certainly not all of them. I agree…that would be weird. You will simply have to read on with your other questions! Thanks so much for reviewing!

**Queen Mab**- To be completely honest, no, I do not know the specifics of the historical battle of Badon hill. My story is based on the movie version of King Arthur, so I am using the battle from the movie. If you think about it, it makes sense. This isn't the biggest collection of Mary Sues…you should check out my other stories- there are far more Mary Sues in those. Obviously, I _can_ write. Certainly, I am an inferior author, I know that. That is why I write on fanfiction. If you want to help me grow in my grasping of the English language, be specific on what you don't like. Simply telling me that I "can't," write isn't terribly specific.

**ElvenStar5**- Do you really think I would kill Lancelot?

**Katemary77**- Happy belated New Year to you too!

**Je suis une pizza**- Jane Eyre rocks my socks…though I wouldn't fancy writing a 12-page essay on it. I salute you!

**Blueglass25**-Thanks! I haven't heard from you in a while!

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"Arthur, I don't like pointing this out, but the plan is lacking." Lancelot informed him. 

Arthur turned to his friend, nearly raising an eyebrow. He managed to catch himself, fixing his usual disinterested expression in place. "Really? And where is it lacking?" he asked, as if the answers held no consequence. But they did.

Arthur did not count many on this earth as a friend, but Lancelot was certainly one of them. There was no one he trusted more. No one. Now, Lancelot was uneasy. Lancelot might jest at such things, but now he was actually serious. It bore looking into.

"Well, Arthur, there is the chance that these people will simply try to kill us in our sleep…but let's not concern ourselves with such minor details." Lancelot smirked.

Lancelot smirked far too much for his own good. It was what he did when he had nothing else to do. When he had nerves that he didn't want anyone to see. Arthur knew him, sometimes better than he knew himself, and was never fooled by such obvious tricks.

"Let them try. Will you give them that opening, Lancelot?" asked Arthur, trying to appeal to his ego.

"We don't need them. They ran into the woods with their tails between their legs. How helpful would they be to us? Are you sure your head made it out of the battle unscathed?" It was a pitiful plea, and they both knew it.

"Have you looked around as of late, friend?" asked Arthur, "Have you been speaking with Merlin? He knows what will happen, and so do I. No one knows our strength, and they will test it. Our own people will test it. I need every soul I can muster. Even a Saxon. The empire is crumbling, and now the country will have a new leader. It makes people nervous. You know of the reports. The thieves have already started. I need help Lancelot, and I hope I can trust you to sleep lightly." It was delivered in his usual clipped tone, though Lancelot could hear the desperation.

It was easy to forget that Arthur was a mortal. If you could get past the piercing eyes, you would come to the demeanor. It seemed that nothing could shake him. Lancelot could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Arthur fall apart; lose control. It had been years since the last time, and it wasn't an experience Lancelot wanted to repeat. He would get the Saxon bastards out of their trees, lock them in a little room, and guard the door if necessary. If, of course, it would make Arthur feel better. It wasn't as though he usually got much sleep, anyway…

Lancelot gave Arthur a curt nod, and went back to his room for his armor. He would be needing it.

Arthur watched him go with amusement that didn't show. Lancelot seemed to enjoy not being taken seriously. It always struck him as odd, though he had never questioned him about it. It probably wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. Arthur was worried. As the deceased King of the Saxons had kindly pointed out, he was just a man. How would he be able to protect an entire country? It didn't seem possible to him that one man could do it all. Perhaps it took many. He would simply be the figurehead. In that case, he needed to select his men carefully, or his women. At least Guinevere and Merlin seemed eager to help, that was something.

* * *

Devona had shaken off her gloom, and was now pacing, annoying all surrounding her. She was supposed to have a quick, easy, and effective plan ready at all times. This was apparently not one of those times. She could think of nothing even remotely helpful. Aglaeca was edgy. Something was distinctly off about their situation, though he couldn't quite place it. 

Someone was close.

Tristan was as alert as ever. This was cause for many jests, bets, and worries. Tristan really couldn't make himself care about any of that, however. At the moment, he had a job to do. Arthur had asked, and here he was. It really wasn't all that complicated. He liked it that way.

Now, he stopped. They were out there. He could hear the stomping of feet on the earthen floor of the forest. They weren't expecting company. That was stupid. That was sloppy. Tristan was no longer sure he wished to be associated with such obvious idiots. He hoped that Arthur knew what he was getting into. It was time to backtrack. As fun as the encounter would undoubtedly be, Arthur would be upset if he took on the entire group at once. Well, there was no use sulking. One couldn't change reality.

Aefre had gone still. This was not an odd occurrence, so it didn't bother her fellows much. They were more concerned with their escape plan at the moment. The horses were agitated, snorting, pawing the ground with their hooves. Yes, all was not right. Aefre wasn't kept waiting for long.

Men on horseback had surrounded them, and were closing in, almost nonchalantly, as the Saxons scrambled for their weapons.

* * *

Devona would look back upon this day, even years after, replaying the scene in her head. Could she have changed it? What could she have done when they struck here, or there? The simple fact of the matter was that they were woefully unprepared for an attack. They had been foolish. Grief did that to you. You forgot all training, all instincts. If they had attacked the next day, perhaps their guard wouldn't be so open. But, unfortunately for the Saxons, the knights decided to attack right at that very moment. They couldn't put up much resistance without getting the rest of their friends killed. 

So, it was with much seething and flared nostrils that they set out on their horses, staring at the enemy with all the reticence of a child. Actually, that wasn't strictly accurate. It was more fury than reticence. And, rightfully so. The knights decided it would be much more fun to allow the Saxons to wonder as to their fate. They had lost friends in the battle as well, and it didn't sit well with anyone. Lancelot in particular enjoyed using patronizing tones with their captives.

"We don't usually get to escort such pretty soldiers, now do we Bors?" he asked.

Bors, in the typical Bors fashion, grunted. He didn't want to be here. Vanora was still out there, and he would much rather be going after her than some cowardly soldiers. Well, Arthur always had his reasons…perhaps one of them was Dagonet. Arthur seemed to see everything, including the silent stares Dagonet had been sending Fulcinia's way when he thought no one was looking. Well, he and Dagonet would have a nice adventure soon, to retrieve their beloved damsels.

Esma snorted. This one really though highly of himself. Lancelot heard, and turned his head, staring at the woman who had felt the need to voice her opinion in such a way. They glared at each other for a time, but Devona rode up next to Esma, raising an eyebrow. Esma dropped the glare reluctantly, and Lancelot chuckled. He had won that round!

Devona was quite worn out, though she didn't let it show. In a way, this was just what she needed. She was a woman who valued a challenge, and escaping from the knights would certainly be one. The knights had taken their weapons on their surrender, and Devona felt naked without them. They hadn't been riding for long, though the trip wasn't long. They soon returned to the bloody field, and Devona tried not to look. She failed. She had been though some bloody battles before, but this one surpassed even the worst of those. She rode up to the cocky knight, who seemed to be in charge.

"I need to find my people. We will have our own ceremony, you needn't worry about it." She said, trying to bargain.

"Why should I let you go? You'll just run off again. It's the only thing you're good at, after all." He responded, scathingly.

"I run when I must. If you had planned on killing us, you would have done it already. I have my men to look after, the living and the dead."

Lancelot studied her. "I will bring you to Arthur first. He will decide." There, it was out of his hands now. Arthur would know what to do. He always did…well, nearly always.

They made their way into a courtyard, where they were met by a squire. Lancelot nodded at the captives, and they dismounted. Lancelot could trust Jols to look after the horses. Aefre didn't want to leave their mounts in the hands of a stranger, but there was nothing to be done about it. She watched them go sadly, and was nudged along by one of her captors. She had other things to be worried about now.

Devona kept her head held high. She would not crumble in front of these men. She was a commander, and would hold herself as such. Her people followed her, silently showing their support. Devona almost managed a smile. She didn't deserve her friends.

Lancelot led them in, knowing how they would react to the surroundings. It never ceased to amuse him how people reacted to a differently shaped piece of furniture. Devona didn't react at all, and neither did her people. She was in control now, and would not be distracted from the mess now on hand. There was a man standing by the circular table, and at first she didn't recognize him. Arthur. He had a presence much like Cedric had, though it wasn't exactly comforting.

Lancelot grabbed Devona's arm and pulled her forward. "Found them in the woods. They're the cavalry you wanted." He said, carelessly.

Arthur studied Devona, and she stared right back.

A woman sat in the shadows, sure that she had gone unseen. She wanted to leap from her chair, choke the life out of the people who had come to take her land. Who had killed her people. Arthur hadn't wanted her here at this meeting, though she really didn't care. She would be a queen in her own right; he had best start listening to her. That little bitch stood far too close to Arthur for comfort, and she had to restrain herself now. She would deal with this one later.

Devona's eyes flicked over to the corner where Guinevere sat, though she made no comment. Her gaze returned to Arthur, and finally she spoke.

"What will you be doing with us then?" she asked, as if she could care less.

Arthur's mouth twitched. "I have a proposition. If you don't want it, we'll kill you. You don't matter to me all that much. I want you to fight for me." He said, bluntly.

Devona raised a brow. "Really? Why would that be? We are but ignorant Saxons, how could we help one such as yourself?" she asked sarcastically.

"Those were the very questions I wanted to ask." Muttered Lancelot, loud enough for Devona to hear. She simply grinned, and looked questioningly at Arthur, waiting for his answer.

"Does it really matter why? I am offering you your lives. Will you take them?"

"Will you allow us to burn our own dead?" she asked, trying to bargain a bit. She knew they had no choice, but she wouldn't let some foreign idiot burn her men. They would have a proper ceremony.

"I need your word. And you need markings. I won't have you slipping off. The markings will help with that. Everyone will see you for what you are." He warned.

"Fine. Do it fast, they've been left to the crows for long enough." She snapped.

Arthur addressed his knights. "Tell Jols we're ready. Then bring them there. Get it over with." He said, and turned to placate his bride to be.

The Saxons were led from the chamber and to the blacksmith's. This was a procedure that Devona was not looking forward to. The heat hit her face as she entered, nearly knocking her back. She managed to steady herself, flinching slightly, and proceeded into the room. The knights followed, not willing to trust the newcomers yet. Jols was ready.

"Who's first?" he asked, not really caring if there were volunteers or not. He didn't expect any. He was surprised when two stepped forward. Devona and Aglaeca looked at each other, though it was obvious who would go first. Devona appreciated the gesture, but she was their commander. Anything she asked of her men, she would first do herself. This did not mean that she was happy about it, however.

She nearly growled as the man's rough hands closed over her arm, pulling her closer to the flame. He took a heated brand and applied it to Devona's forearm.

Devona had known a great deal of pain in her life. If she were being honest with herself, she would admit that she had certainly had worse. She simply couldn't think of any of those occasions at the time. She let out a yelp, biting the inside of her cheek, drawing blood. But then, just as quickly as it had come, the steel was removed from her skin, leaving a dull ache in its wake. The man, Jols as he was called, branded the rest of her people as she watched.

They were nothing but animals now.

* * *

**I promise, it will get better! On my honor as a chief! Reviews are better than chocolate!**


	6. Comfort

**Wow. I feel so terribly pathetic. It has been _so _long. I haven't been slacking, I've just been _reallyreallyreallyreally _busy. I am so sorry. But, apologies aside, lets get back to the actual chapter. I had more fun with this one. It's still sad, but there are some pretty interesting aspects that I'll get to go into later. And hopefully soon. Speech season ends in two weeks, and we have spring break coming up. I should be able to update within a week. I won't promise, but it is _probable. _If the branding seemed extreme to you, read my note to Realtfarriage. It should help. Also, I have a list of the Saxons who survived with a brief description at the bottom of the chapter, if anyone gets confused!**

**Eiggem-** The woads from 'Rebekah' won't be in this one…sorry! You'll have to wait and see about that one!

**Mustang Gal**- DAGONET LIVES! The dynamic between Arthur and Devona will get much more attention in the coming chapters…keep reading!

**Blueglass25**- I love that you leave long reviews. That rocks my socks! Oh, don't worry…Guinevere will not be a 'biatch' I just thought it was kind of reasonable for her to be seriously pissed at the people who had decided to invade her land, and most likely kill some of her friends. I thought that was illustrated nicely in the movie when she was talking about the Romans. I loved this review (It wasn't mean at all! It was actually really nice) I'm glad someone takes the time to go "what are you talking about?" every so often…keep doing it! It really helps!

**Camreyn-** Sorry it took me so long! Life's a bitch sometimes. I am going to have so much fun with this story once it actually gets going. You have no idea (SMILES WIDELY) None of the knights like this plan. Actually, the only one who does is Arthur. That always makes things interesting. Thanks for the nice long review!

**Camlann**- Guinevere won't always be like this. I just thought she wouldn't be overly welcoming to the invaders. Just one of those things. The branding will be examined more closely in future chapters, don't worry! You are _totally _my bestest friend!

**Realtfarraige**- The branding was certainly extreme, I agree. We have to keep in mind that Arthur's mind is on overload. He is really stressed, and unsure of his role. I don't think he really thought that through. Arthur was human. You'll just have to wait and see about that Lancelot. He's a wily fellow. Thanks for leaving such a nice long review!

**Katemary77**- You'll have to keep reading to learn that one! Thanks for sticking with me!

**Je suis une pizza**- I think we're _all _superficial when it comes to Lancelot. The man is a fox. I'm also a Tristan chick, so I really can't complain either way. The character list is at the bottom!

**MonDieu666**- Thanks!

* * *

Esma was not generally a vicious woman. She was not usually one to hold a grudge. The times, however, had a tendency to change one. As she looked down at the angry red flesh of her arm, she knew she would never be the same.

* * *

Dagonet was impatient. This was not a usual occurrence. Well, little had been usual as of late. He felt love, desire, anxiety, and yes, impatience. The world was a twisted place. Something had to be done; he couldn't put off his talk with Arthur any longer. Squaring his shoulders, his usual indifferent expression in place, he went to visit his future king.

* * *

Blood was glorious. He wiped his forehead, only to have more of the dried red rub off on his hand. He rubbed his fingers together, and the scarlet powder fell from his skin in rolls, giving the grass a bit more color. He was alive, and he wouldn't waste a miracle. He would build a new life for himself. He would rule.

* * *

Arthur stared off at the setting sun, wondering yet again what tomorrow would bring. He didn't see her, but rather felt her enter the room. He stood for a long time, waiting for her to make her presence known. Slowly, his ears could detect her breathing. She was upset about something, and it wasn't difficult to figure out what. He turned to her, and waited for her to speak.

"You should have killed them." She said, trying to disguise the venom in her voice. He heard it nonetheless.

"They could be useful to us. I don't want to begin my reign with executions." He explained, hoping she would understand.

Guinevere nearly screamed in exasperation. "If you are going to be king, executions will happen." She pointed out.

"I know that. I don't have to start with them, however."

He crossed the room and gently lifted her chin, bending down to kiss her scowling mouth. "Someday, you will understand." He said, and for once, she kept her mouth firmly closed when she obviously had quite a bit more to say.

"What is this really about?" he asked, knowing she wasn't being completely honest.

She lifted and eyebrow, "What else is there to say? You've let a bunch of Saxon sluts into our army. You won't listen to reason. That is all there is to say, Arthur."

"I would hardly call them sluts." Arthur protested.

"Oh, men rarely do. They prefer to get them on their backs first." She responded, scathingly.

Arthur nearly rolled his eyes. His future wife really worried over nothing.

There was a knock on the door, and they turned to each other. The message in both of their eyes was clear _this isn't over. _

"Come in." invited Arthur.

The door swung open, and Dagonet stepped into the room. He was acutely aware that he had just interrupted something, but he honestly didn't want to know what. All he wanted to do was leave, galloping after the caravan. He was stuck here until Arthur said so.

He gave a curt nod to Guinevere, and addressed Arthur. "Bors wishes to know when we will be fetching Vanora and the assorted offspring." He said, attempting to remain formal. It didn't sound right to discuss the 'lil bastards" with a king. There was no way he would mention the woman, though everyone knew he wasn't asking for Bors's sake.

Arthur considered this. He didn't want to send the knights out on their own. Even with Dagonet to supervise, they were a wild bunch. He couldn't have them gallivanting all over the countryside wreaking havoc. Now was as good a time as any to test the new recruits.

"You will be leaving tomorrow morning. Take the Saxons with you." He said, knowing he wouldn't have to elaborate. Dagonet understood things.

With a nod, Dagonet left the room.

"Rather sweet, isn't it?" commented Guinevere, with something close to a smile on her face.

Arthur gave her a smile in return. "Agreed, though I wouldn't say that to his face. He'd be far too distressed."

"True."

They reached an unvoiced conclusion. They would leave the issue alone for now, and figure it out later.

* * *

Devona led her band through the bloodstained field, until they came upon the first body.

Cwen. They found Atyhtan not far from her, their blood mingling in the grass. Anbidian forced himself to help with the removal of the bodies. He made himself carry her weight to the edge of the wood where they were collecting the bodies. He couldn't make himself look at Atyhtan, though. Even in death, he couldn't bear the thought of letting his friend see what he truly was.

They never found the bodies of Abrecan, Drefan, or Cedric. They supposed that they blue people had made off with them, after they searched for an hour. In the end, they dug a pit, and deposited the bodies of Banan, Colby, Stearc, Atyhtan, and Cwen. They gathered what wood they could, and Aglaeca handed Devona the torch.

Devona watched the flame, oddly reminiscent of her dream. She hadn't been completely wrong. Abrecan was dead, but they could not put his soul at rest. He was damned to wander the world alone. There was nothing she could do without his body. She could pray, but she had never put much stock in that option. It never seemed to work out the way she had planned. So, she would remain. She would look after the survivors. It was all she could do now.

Estra had never liked the smell of burning flesh. She longed to leave, but knew that this was the last time she would see her friends. Banan had always been nice to her. He had helped her out that one time when Colby…well, that didn't matter now. They were both dead.

Bernia was just happy that they had died without their skin being branded. They had died with honor, and she would remember them for the rest of her life. She would tell their stories to her children- or her friends' children, if she had none of her own. She would miss Cwen. Cwen was everything she wasn't. She was sweet, shy, pretty, fragile. Bernia had made it her business to take care of Cwen, and she had failed. She scanned the small group. She would not fail again.

Esma held Devona close, needing something to hold. It was odd, at times like these, that people felt a need to be connected to something real, something solid. She could feel every breath that Devona took, and relished the experience. Her hand reached out for someone, anyone to join them. Her hand closed on Aglaeca's shoulder. She drew him in, and he came quietly.

The silence was interrupted only by the crackling of flame, until Anbidian spoke.

"It's getting dark. We should go." He said, apologetically.

Estra looked relieved, briefly, before she resumed her blank mask. She wasn't _always_ honest.

Devona nodded, and disentangled herself from Esma and Aglaeca. She set off for the wall, not looking back.

Esma and Aglaeca stood together for a bit, before turning to follow. They carried up the rear of the band, still holding on to one another.

* * *

Devona had no idea where she was going. No one had told her where they would be staying, so she simply stood in the courtyard, wondering what to do next. Then, she saw the curly haired knight, whom the others had called Lancelot, watching them from the shadows. She went to him, and he showed no signs of alarm at her advance. Inside, he was ready for anything.

"Where are we to sleep?" she asked.

It was not what he was expecting. He was actually expecting a dagger to the throat, so he had to admit he liked this course of action. It was much less lethal.

"Jols didn't show you?" he asked. He took her raised eyebrow to mean 'no', "Well, follow me." He said nonchalantly, and turned on his heal, listening for any violent movements. It would not due to retrieve a blade from his back.

He lead them through a series of hallways, and finally to a narrower one, with several doors on either side. "You'll sleep in here. We'll come for you in the morning. Be prepared for a long and unpleasant journey." He informed them, ever welcoming.

With that, he left them to their rooms. Devona nearly sighed before catching herself. She needed to get everyone settled in. "Well. I guess we won't have much breathing room, but, well…be ready for tomorrow…" she trailed off, awkwardly. She went to her room, berating herself all the way '_that was inspirational…well…be ready…um…yes.' _

The room certainly wasn't ornate. No, this was a soldier's room. Devona wondered briefly who it had belonged to before. The bedpost was scuffed with all sorts of designs, she would examine them more later. When she wasn't so, well, tired. She found her weapons a corner, even those she had left in her tent before the battle. Come to think of it, her clothes were here as well…Where had those come from? If only she wasn't so tired! Perhaps this was all a dream…just a dream.

Aefre slipped into her room, unnoticed by any of the others. They hadn't noticed her today at all, but it really didn't bother her. She preferred it that way. She glanced about her room, and noticed that someone had brought the few possessions she had. They had left something else too…something terribly out of place in a soldiers room. An embroidery needle, and a few strands of thread. She tucked it into her satchel, and promised herself to see to it later. She hadn't used a needle since she was a child. It would be fun to pick it up again. As long as no one knew. They wouldn't understand.

* * *

Esma couldn't sleep. She felt alone and cold in her own room. She sat in the quiet for a while, trying to listen for any signs of stirring along the hall. She thought she heard someone shifting in their bed next door- Aglaeca. So, he was awake as well. She tiptoed out of her room, slid Aglaeca's door open, and was met with a blade to her throat. She raised a brow, and the sword was lowered.

Esma didn't say anything. She pulled her nightgown up to her thighs, settling herself on Aglaeca's lap, and kissed him. They both needed comfort. They both needed something to hold, something solid. They knew this was a bad idea, but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered now.

* * *

Lancelot tried to sleep. He would have to wake up early tomorrow, and they would have a hard ride soon after. This was not time for insomnia! But, alas, the mystical higher-archy that governed his world was not listening, as usual, and he ended up pacing, one of his least favorite pastimes. It was amazing how often he ended up doing just that. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Guinevere. He knew he couldn't have her. He knew his thoughts were wrong. Arthur was his _friend!_

Guinevere laid awake, Arthur's arm tossed over her waist. She needed to convince him that the Saxons were up to something. They had to be. Saxons didn't just surrender. There had to be a reason.

* * *

He had washed the blood away now. He was almost saddened by its absence, but reminded himself that it would soon be replaced. This soothed his high-strung nerves, and he smiled. This was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

* * *

**List of surviving Saxons:**

Devona: Leader of the Saxons

Esma: Devona's best friend, can be a bit frisky at times

Aefre: Takes care of the horses, and doesn't socialize much

Bernia: Focused on the art of battle. That's all. Scary, eh?

Estra: 'The Blunt One' can always be depended on for an honest answer

Anbidian: A bit shy at times, but has been trying to cheer everyone up

Aglaeca: Probably their best warrior, we don't know much about him yet, except that he holds up well under pressure.

_**Please review! I'll love you forever!**_


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